Moments
by Treenahasthaal
Summary: A mixture of 100 word drabbles capturing moments in time. Many are series of drabbles with a common story. Others are stand alone. Mainly Luke/Vader, or Dark Luke, but also Mara, Han, Leia, Beru, Owen, Palpatine, Obi-Wan, Wedge, et al
1. Enemies, Friends, Lovers

These drabbles (and the the ones to follow) were written as part of a challenge on SSB. Some have a theme that follow through them, some don't. As I post the ones that form part of a larger "story" I'll give you the heads up. The challenge is to write a drabble based on three words. Each week for ten weeks the words change so we should end up with 30 drabbles. Each drabble is to be 100 words.

These drabbles were for week 1. Enemies is based on an unwritten scene from my **Penumbra** series. **Friends** was written while my kids ate and played in a McDonalds and **Lovers** is a spoiler for **Dark Times**.

Disclaimer: Everything Star Wars belongs to Mr Lucas. I only borrow the characters to play with and I always give back, unbroken (or nearly always unbroken... okay maybe a little bruised). The only profit I gain is my own enjoyment of writing.

**Enemies**

He hung loosely, arms strapped tight to the durasteel bar. He no longer fought to keep his toes on the ground, no longer cared. His eyes were closed against the glare of the bank of lights that were directly before him, against the heat that scorched his skin and stole the breath from him. He could feel blood trickle down his throat, could taste its coppery tang, could feel more mingle with sweat to slick his naked, broken body.

The lights dimmed. The heat waned. The voice returned, demanding an answer.

"_Who are you?"_

He swallowed with difficulty. "Y.. your son."

**Friends**

He was exhausted. His body trembled, his legs ached. No longer caring how dirty his uniform had become he flopped down into the mud. His chest heaved from his exertion, his run through the jungle, the acrobatics his teacher demanded, the lightsaber practise that followed. A Jedi needed to be prepared to fight no matter how tired they were.

"So weary already are you?" His master cackled. "More to come there is."

He groaned. Taking hold of the top of Artoo Detoo's legs he pulled himself up. The little droid twittered his support.

Luke patted the droid's dome. "Thanks, buddy."

**Lovers**

The chill of the evening air caressed his skin and he shivered, drawing her closer to him. Luke was surprise at what had just happened. At the suddenness of their union, the passion and intensity that had driven them both. Clothes frantically pushed aside, tossed away as they sought solace with their bodies.

He was free because of her. She nearly died because of him.

He trailed his fingers along the scar on her belly even bacta would not heal. The result of Vader's saber.

"Thecla, I..."

She took his hand. Placed it on her breast. "Shhh, don't say it."


	2. Eyes, Mouth, Hands

These three drabbles are at the start of the Dark Luke thread. Initially written as a "joke" on the group - as they know of my dislike for Ms Jade - they have evolved into a series of moments in the life of Luke as a Sith.

Previous disclaimers still apply.

**Eyes**

He watched as the truth of his words sank in. He watched as horror, pain, anguish, and grief flared her eyes wide. Then she stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind her, her hands up to stop his advance toward her.

"Why?" She rasped, breathless.

He smiled, the mirth not reaching his own eyes; the blue now tinged yellow as the man before her revealed the Sith within.

"But I love you!" She screamed her hurt, her betrayal.

But he only laughed enjoying her torment, feeding off her twisting, wild emotions. "That was your mistake, Mara."

She wilted, sagged, sobbed. "Luke..."

**Mouth**

His hand held her chin and he smiled as she tried to pull away. His fingers traced a light, delicate path over her full lips and he bent down and pressed his own mouth upon those lips, tongue breaking through to touch hers. She bucked, tried to move away from the unwanted kiss but the bonds held her fast to the wall.

He broke away, licked his lips and smiled crookedly at her. "I thought you loved me?"

Tears marked her face, dulled the emerald of her eyes. "I did... I do..."

"Make up your mind, Jade."

"No. I can't."

**Hands**

His left hand was rough, calloused as it gently stroked her arm. His right still smooth and synthflesh perfect as he place it against her cheek.

"You can still be mine, Mara," His voice coarse with need, eyes heavy with desire, but Mara knew it was no longer her he really wanted. Luke was drunk with power, heady with the dark side. "You were Palpatine's Hand. You could be mine, and so much more."

"No."

Again a crooked smile. "You disappoint me, my love." He leaned in, kissed her, place his hands around her neck. "I will miss you, Jade."


	3. Smooth, Rough, Dry

AN: These continue the Dark Luke theme.

As always the previous disclaimers apply.

**Smooth**

So smooth. Her skin was so smooth under his hands. His palm against her cheek, his eyes gazing into her emerald irises as his right hand, his own perfectly smooth synthflesh skin, choked the life from her. Her eyes were open, her mouth stretched wide as she fought for the breath he denied her.

"I'm Sorry, Mara," he whispered into her ear as she died. "I'm sorry you refused me. We could have been good together."

Her reply was a whisper, a regretful tone, as her body went limp in the cuffs that held her to the wall.

He smiled.

**Rough**

His eyes faded back to blue and he wiped at his face with hands that had, only moments before, been around her neck. It was done. Over. The only one who knew of his darkness, the only one to have discovered his power, was dead.

He heaved in a breath to steady himself, to drive back the pleasure the murder had given him, and reached up to undo the rough cuffs that circled her wrists. She fell to the floor, lay still at his feet and, strangely, he felt a pang of regret.

Together they could have ruled a Galaxy.

**Dry**

He was standing by the window looking out over the sky lanes as the traffic flowed as it always did on Coruscant. He was still, hands clasped behind his back, as though perfectly calm, as though the news he had just heard had not registered.

"Luke?" Leia whispered watching her brother's back, ready for the collapse, ready to run to him, ready to comfort. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard," he answered. His head bowed and she moved closer, feeling his emotions crumple. His knees buckled. He fell.

She held him as he sobbed against her shoulder. His eyes dry.


	4. Agony, Punishment, Scars

AN: These may or may not be linked to the Dark Luke thread. I allow the reader to make up their own mind.

As before all previous disclaimers apply.

**Agony**

It was agony! His muscles cramped and he had to stifle a cry of pain as he stumbled, almost losing the weight he had been made to carry. This was torture. There was no other word for what he was being put through. He caught his breath, drew in another as aching lungs gasped for air, as sweat mingled with dirt on the exposed skin of his torso.

"I can't," he moaned, falling to the dirt. His hands sinking into mud.

The weight on his back shifted. "Give up so easily, do you? To become a Jedi, commitment is required."

**Punishment**

"I'm committed," he ground out through clenched teeth, still staring at the mud as it oozed through his fingers.

"Hmm, anger I feel in you," Yoda muttered unhappily as he shifted in the pack still strapped to Luke's back.

Luke bit back his reply, stifled his growing annoyance and closed his eyes, seeking the calm of the Force to still his emotions if not the pain from his exhausted body. The run that morning had been twice as long as the day before.

"Restart from the beginning, you must."

Luke's fist closed around mud at the announcement of his punishment.

**Scars**

It was a moan of pain that woke him. Pulling himself from his bed, he hobbled to the door of his home and glanced into the clearing beyond where his apprentice lay sleeping. He could feel Skywalker's twisting emotions; fear, rage, helplessness as his dream unfolded. Luke shuddered, shouted and Yoda shrank away unseen as the boy woke with a start. It would seem that Luke had inherited his father's gift of foresight.

He would have to teach Luke control less he allowed these visions to control his destiny as his father had. The Galaxy could bear no further scars.


	5. Vibroblade, Blaster, Lightsaber

Again these may, or may not be, connected to the Dark Luke drabbles. You can decide.

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Virboblade**

As he moved the packing crate something clattered to the sandy floor. Curious, he placed the box down and looked at the floor unable to suppress a grin. It was a dagger. He bent down, picked it up, adjusted his hand grip as he tested its weight.

"Wow..." He couldn't help the soft whisper of awe as the blade winked in the lights of the storage area. A peculiar hum could be heard from the weapon.

"'Wow' what?"

"Look what I found." He held his palm out to show his friend.

"Drop it, Luke. You'll take your friggin' hand off!"

**Blaster**

"Wow!" Luke opened the box Han had just handed him. Reaching in, he took the blaster by the handgrip, and lifted it out. He adjusted his hold, feeling the weight of the new pistol. "Is it charged?"

Han snorted. "'You think I'd hand you a charged blaster, kid, without being outta range first? You need to practice."

"I'm not that bad a shot!" He laughed.

"True," Han conceded. "I saw the damage you did on the Death Star."

Luke grinned, then sobered at the memory of the first person he had killed. The man's final expression engrained in his mind.

**Lightsaber**

The kid had been practicing. Laser bolts where being fired quick and fast from the five remotes that hovered and darted around him. Luke's movements were swift, blurred. His new, green lightsaber arching and parrying with a precision that left Han astounded. If time had allowed he could have watched the kid for hours.

"Luke."

Concentration broken, Luke stopped, deactivated the sword. The remotes stilled and sank to the ground. Luke, barely out of breath, looked to Han. "It's time?"

"Yeah, the final supplies are being loaded now."

An indeterminate shadow passed over Luke's face. "Let's not keep him waiting."


	6. Family, Blessings, Thanks

AN: These words were given as part of the challenge in the spirit of Thanksgiving. Being Scottish, I saw something else in them and thus, the Dark Luke thread continues.

As before all pevious disclaimers apply.

**Family**

He spoke of family. "I have always been envious of those with family. Those who knew their parents and had been raised by them. Those with siblings."

He had grown up alone with guardians who had loved him, and yet, they had stifled his natural abilities and denied him his heritage.

They had been afraid. Scared of his background, scared of his gifts. Had raised him in ignorance.

He smiled as he looked out across the congregation. They had been right to fear him, to deny him. Their failure would be his victory.

"Then I met Leia, Han and... Mara."

**Blessings**

He spoke about the Force. How it had blessed his life with friends, family and a woman he loved. And how that woman was gone now. Taken from him in the vilest of manners; tortured and murdered.

Blessed.

The word almost caught in his throat.

He wanted to laugh, to reveal his true self. Wanted to curse them, to show the true meaning of blessing. The Sith meaning. The consecration with blood.

Instead he lowered his head, brought tears to his eyes and allowed them trail down his cheeks as he faced the congregation once more.

"Mara, I love you."

**Thanks**

The words choked him. He had loved her once. Perhaps if she had remained loyal he might have loved her still. In his own way.

The Sith Way.

The way that used and manipulated others to fulfil ambition; to grow powerful, stronger. He cherished his last moments with her. Relived how the Dark Side had sung to him, clear and dark, as he had crushed her throat.

"Luke?" His sister's soft hand on his arm, her voice full of concern.

He sagged, allowed her to support him as he finished the eulogy. "Thank you, all. She would have been amazed."


	7. Storm, Rain, Ice

AN: These are the last words the challenge has had thus far. More will follow as the words are posted for the challenge on the list.

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Storm**

Lightening crackled across the sky. Thunder rolled, echoing between the towers of Coruscant. The traffic lanes were light of vehicles as the storm raged, sending beings scurrying to safety. It was, she mused, much like the storm that raged in her heart. Bright flashes of light, the rumbling noise of her confused feelings and a deep sense of dread that urged her to run for shelter before the rain fell.

But run to where? Where would she find shelter should her fears be confirmed? There would be no hiding place for her from the rain.

There would be only darkness.

**Rain**

She shivered as a cool breeze cut through her clothing, but still she remained on the balcony, carelessly standing in the midst of the storm as the clouds opened and the deluge began.

"Leia?"

She chilled at the sound of his voice. It always sounded so warm, so comforting, but now it terrified her.

"Leia, what are you doing out there?"

She smiled. _I'm standing in the rain where my tears will be hidden._

She felt him approach, felt his hand on her shoulder turning her around. "Hey, sis," he tilted her chin until her eyes met his. "What's up?"

**Ice**

Water dripped from his hair, from his eyelashes. There was another burst of lightening, his eyes reflecting the flash. Unable to look at him any longer Leia wrapped her arms around him, placed her head against his chest, powerless to stop the sob that tore through her.

"Hey," he whispered, drawing her tighter into his embrace. "Whatever it is, we can fix."

He was good.

So good at hiding his true nature. He had fooled everyone at Mara's funeral, playing the distraught husband.

His body was warm beneath his sodden clothes but, within her brother, beat a heart of ice.


	8. Coruscant, Tatooine, Yavin IV

It has taken a wee while, but finally the challenge continues with three more words posted on SSB.

As before all previous disclaimers apply.

**Coruscant**

Leia sobbed against his chest, her tears lost to the raging storm. He held her close in the rain, murmured soothing words of comfort as the winds howled.

She knew. Somehow his sister knew. He should pick her up, throw her from the balcony and end it now for her.

Quick.

He smiled, his eyes flaring yellow in the flash of lightening. Thunder rolled, echoing among the towers of Coruscant.

But there would be no quick for Leia Organa. Her future was difficult, painful. Her future was about pain and grief.

And a galaxy that would shudder under her power.

**Tatooine**

"We're getting wet."

There was dry humour in his voice and it chilled her. She pulled away, her breath hitching as she stilled her crying. He held her arms, stopped her from turning and running to the false security of the apartments beyond. She knew she could never run from him. With heart hammering in terror she turned her eyes to his, hoping to see a Tatoooine farm boy, but finding a Sith in his place.

"How did you find out?"

With difficulty she found her voice, knowing the grief the answer would cause her. "Han."

Her love.

His weakness.

**Yavin IV**

He closed his eyes. Turned his face upwards, allowed the rain to wash over him as he drew in a breath and gathered the Force around him.

Han.

It could only have been the Corellian. Was it Solo who had voiced his suspicions to Mara? Or had Mara confided in him?

It didn't matter. There was only one course of action. The act he had struggled to avoid all this time, the last protestations of a dying youth. His last tie to the light.

Solo had to die.

"Where is he?"

He felt her struggle.

Felt her defeat.

"Yavin IV."


	9. Something Silly

**AN:** This is a complete break away from Dark Luke. : )

This was written for Kataja on the Skywalker-Story-Board. Knowing how I feel about Mara Jade, she wanted me to write about the reason that Luke loves her. So I did..... 

**Please remember that my tongue was firmly in my cheek as I wrote this**.

As always - all previous disclaimers apply.

ooOOoo

For Kataja....

**Why I love Mara Jade**

Mara. I've often wondered why I fell for you. Was it rebound –desperation – after Callista? Was it the number of times we were alone in sticky situations and thrust, unwillingly, together. Forced to rely on each other to save our lives?

Or was it something else?

The Force, perhaps, making sure that the Skywalker genetic line remain as alive as possible with midiclorians and not diluted with non-Jedi blood?

No, it was more than that. I look at you now; your titian hair, your emerald eyes, your perfect female figure and I realise one thing.

One truth.

I'm just nuts!


	10. Target, Hostage, Hero

I was thrilled when new words were posted on SSB and they fitted with what I wanted to happen with the Dark Luke thread.

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Target**

Han knew this would not be easy. It sounded easy in the planning stages; lure Luke to Yavin IV, lull him into a false sense of security by making Solo a target and then reveal the hidden card.

Except Han didn't know if his "ace" could follow through.

He glanced at her as she nervously watched the sky, unsure if she really had the strength to do what he asked of her. She had gone this far, had done things she was not proud of to make it to this moment.

This one last act could only be hers alone.

**Hostage**

"He might use her as a hostage," She warned as the dark ship descended toward the moon.

"Leia knew the risks, thought it was worth it to get him here," Solo sounded worried as he watched the craft settle outside of the Massassi temple – the old Alliance base where it all started for Luke, the site of his victory and, if the Galaxy was ever to know peace, it had to be site of his final defeat.

"What about you?"

He was surprised to feel grief for the young man he was here to kill. "It has to be done."

**Hero**

Luke stared out at the temple beyond, a smile curling his lips. This place had so many memories for him. Long ago he had been a hero. He had been young, idealist, full of light and life with no idea of what lay ahead.

"Regrets?"

He nearly laughed at the hope in her voice. "None," he assured her. "I am no longer that boy."

"I am still that girl."

"Then you are a fool, sister." He nearly faltered as Obi-Wan's admonishment to Solo whispered across his mind.

"_Who is the more foolish..."_

The Dark Side thickened around him in anticipation.


	11. Anger, Denial, Guilt

Week 10 of the drabbles and the last three words. These are the best I could do as my hasn't been cooperating thses last few weeks.

All previous disclaimers apply.

**Anger**

Leia emerged first from the ship, Luke behind her striding down the ramp with confidence and arrogance. Han felt a stir of anger; after everything they had all been through that Luke...

_...kid..._

... should do this. That such innocence could be so corrupted. Han gripped his blaster tighter, closed his eyes and apologised to the youth he once knew. He took a breath to calm himself. "Stay here," he told his companion. "Wait for the signal."

She nodded, mutely, as Solo stepped out from the Massassi temple and crossed the landing zone toward his wife and brother and law.

ooOOoo

**Denial**

His eyes swept the area, could see only Solo, but there was something else. Something unexpected, hiding in a fold in the Force. His hand unconsciously caressed the saber by his side.

"Luke."

"Solo."

Luke smiled as his eyes flashed yellow. "Why are you here, Han?"

"To end this."

The Force was thickening around him, the darkness singing. "My thoughts, exactly," he called his saber, ignited a blood red blade as Han drew his blaster.

"Luke, don't!"

The new voice stopped him, his blood chilling as a familiar woman stepped out of hiding. He shook his head in denial. "No..."

ooOOoo

**Guilt**

He stumbled backward. It couldn't be! She was dead! It was a trick. He realised his mistake a second too late.

It was the moment Han had planned. He shot his friend in the chest.

Luke dropped to the dirt. Leia ran to him, Han by her side as Mara Jade knelt by her dying husband.

"Luke..."

"Trick," Luke gasped, blood dripping from his mouth. "...dead... clone?"

"I'm real," she told him. "You killed a clone."

His body convulsed, the yellow of his eyes intensified with rage. "Bitch..." He died in fury, without remorse, without guilt, forsaken by the Force.


	12. Teacher, Student, Academy

We are doing drabbles again! : ) Hopefully the challenge will continue....

All Previous disclaimers still apply.

Teacher

Beru stood in the shadows of the garage watching the little blond toddler sitting cross legged on the floor. His blue eyes were turned to look up at the man who was patiently explaining how a power converter would fit into the socket of a vaporator. She smiled at the scene; Owen was a natural teacher.

"Hand me the hydrospanner spanner, Luke."

They both gasped as the spanner rose from the floor behind the boy, sailed through the air and into his uncle's open hand. Owen's face darkened and he glanced to his watching wife, fear clear on his features.

ooOOoo

Student

Luke could be a difficult student. Impatient, easily frustrated if he couldn't master a new task or understand a new lesson topic on his first try. But his intelligence was undeniable, his thirst for knowledge unquenchable. Beru drew in a breath to calm her own frustrations as the ten year old passionately argued about his homework.

"I can't! It's wrong, Aunt Beru! The teacher is wrong, I...."

"Luke, sometimes we have to accept the things we do not agree with," she reasoned, quietly.

"But, why?"

_Because it's dangerous not, too, child._

"Because life is too short for all this fighting."

ooOOoo

Academy

Something hit the floor as she spread up Luke's bed. She bent to pick it up and turned the object in her hand, her legs giving out from under her as she recognised its significance.

An Academy Recruitment Tape.

She fiddled with the device, pressed play. Listened, while panic raced in her heart.

"_..__, dispatch your application and join the ranks of the proud!"_

"Beru?"

She looked to Owen at the door. "He's got to know. We have to tell him someday."

"No, we don't" He took the tape, dropped it to the floor, and ground it with his heel.


	13. Forever, Always, Never

**AN:** The drabble challenge continues! : )

These are not beta read, so all mistakes are mine!

All previous disclaimers still apply.

**Forever**

Luke kicked at the sand sending particles flying. It was always the same;

"Just another season."

Now Biggs was away and he was stuck on this rock of baked sand and stone and boredom.

The twin suns were settling on the horizon, hues of golden red washed the desert before him. Some part of his mind told him the sight was beautiful, the greater part reminded him it was a sight he would see the next night, and next, and many more after; stretching into his future years.

He turned away, dejected, frustrated; knowing that forever was far too long.

**Always**

He had searched among the wreckage of his home; coughing in the soot, the scent of death. He had found their bed and grabbed the singed blanket. He wrapped them together as he gasped and gagged on the stench and dragged them toward the gravesite.

Now he was digging; methodically, automatically shovelling up one scoop of sand after another. Some part of him was aware he weeping, mewling, crying with frustration as sand trickled back down into the hole he was so desperately trying to deepen.

Another part knew that he would always remember this and his rage burned within.

**Never**

A soft breeze tugged at his hair as he sat alone in the desert with the twin suns slowly sinking behind him. It was quiet, peaceful, here beside the depression in the sand and he tried not to think of when he had hastily buried them, tried not to think of his grief, his anger and his fear of that day.

He was no longer fearful or angry, but he grieved.

The suns hues turned red-gold and he turned to regard them, recalled that other sunset from years ago but, this time, the whole of him never wanted to leave.


	14. Rattle, Cell, Blanket

**AN:** More drabbles...

There is a larger story on this theme that is rattling about in my brain, but I need to finish writing Dark Times and Consequences before even thinking about any more long tales.

As Always - Previous disclaimers apply!

**Rattle**

It was quiet now; a sheer blackness hid the stark walls of his prison. His laboured breathing was the only sound as he dragged in air to rattle through his swollen and damaged throat. He coughed, winced as cracked ribs protested the involuntary action. He tensed, allowing the pain to purl through him and pulled in another breath to repeat the cycle.

Breath, rattle, cough, pain.

He welcomed the darkness, and the coolness, that bathed his sweat drenched body and soothed his scorched skin. He welcomed the silence that relieved the sickly pounding of his head.

Breath, rattle, cough, pain.

**Cell**

He had no idea how long he had been here. Had lost all track of time since the duel on Bespin. He only knew that this room was his cell, this room was his place of torment and that Vader dictated his every moment.

Ignoring the protests of the saber slashes across his shoulders he turned to lay flat on his back. He stared through the darkness at the ceiling above him, relishing the quiet, the respite from Vader's commands; the forced lightsaber duels, the training droids, the punishments he took for failing to meet the Dark Lord's relentless demands.

**Blanket**

A vicious kick to his injured ribs woke him. He cried out, drew his arm in, pressing his hand against his side, before full awareness of his situation crashed in to shred the blanket of his sleep.

He no longer had a right hand.

"Get up."

He pushed himself to stand, wavered and watched his captor move about the room.

"You are weak."

He made no reply, knowing anything he said would be swiftly punished.

"I will make you strong."

He licked his lips with a parched tongue and waited.

The Dark Lord tossed him a lightsaber.

"Pick it up."

ooOOoo


	15. Alone, Stalk, Prey

**AN:** And so the drabbles continue. I know this has been done to death but I was inspired by a photo from the up coming book "The Making of The Empire Strikes Back." These are not beta read, so any spelling, grammar or other mistakes are mine alone.

**Alone**

The first stirring in the Force caught his attention, pulling him away from the mundane orders he had been about to give. He reigned in the impulse to rip into the Force, to scatter all feelings to the side and slice, mercilessly, into the boy he now felt approaching. However, he knew this was not the way to announce his presence, to entice the child to him.

"Bait the trap," he ordered, turning away from his subordinates as they capitulated and cleared the area.

He stood alone in the darkened chamber, heart beating with keen anticipation as his son approached.

**Stalk**

Again he hid and willed his son to come to him, left tracks in the Force for the boy to follow. And follow he did, stalking his kill with the single-mindedness of a seasoned hunter.

His son was strong, his presence in the Force a beacon to those who would have him.

Jedi.

Sith.

Each battling to gain command of this potential that screamed to be learned, to be used, to be corrupted.

He would show his child the divinity of darkness, the violence and brutality that lay just beneath the surface of the mask the Jedi bade him wear.

**Prey**

Trapped, the boy reacted as all prey do. He thwarted the blade at his throat, scurried to the corner, wounded and defeated only to turn and hiss, spit his fury and fear. There was nowhere the boy could go but further into the trap and cower.

Now it was time to end this, now was the time to acknowledge everything the Jedi had hidden.

"I am your father."

He could feel the confusion, the disbelief, the horror radiate from his son as he denied his heritage.

Then...

A smile.

And Vader realised his mistake.

Luke was also his mother's son.


	16. Eat, Pray, Love

**AN:** These drabbles were inspired by Luminations who mentioned the words in a review to the last lot on my livejournal and by the book "The Making of The Empire Strikes Back" when it spoke about the planned but unfilmed sequences of Luke's training on Dagobah. The first drabble is directly based on a story boarded scene that was not filmed.

As always, Star Wars is copyrighted to George Lucas and Lucasfilm. I just borrow for a short while for fun...

**Eat**

The boy was absently stirring the pot over the stove, his mind elsewhere. He winced, briefly closing his eyes as though in pain.

He was thinking of his friends, of his vision.

Yoda waved his hand and three remotes rose from behind him, instantly attacking.

Luke yelped as the first stinging blast caught him on the shoulder. He lifted the cooking pot, using its base to deflect the tiny lasers and spilling the hot food into his lap.

He cursed, tried to stand and thumped his head on the ceiling.

Yoda chuckled. "If eat we do, more you must cook."

**Pray**

He slumped to the ground, his knees sinking, squelching into the mud. His breaths were shallow, rapid and his head spun, the darkening jungle slowly turning around him. He leaned forward and vomited, racking his exhausted body with each spasm of his stomach.

He groaned, shook his head, trying to clear away the echoes of pain and despair. Trying to shake off the images that assaulted him.

_Han strapped down and screaming._

_Leia sheltering in the corner of a cell, knowing, knowing what was coming._

He didn't think that you could pray to the Force, but he tried.

"Please, please..."

**Love**

"They're my friends!"

The boy's protests were raw with anguish, with doubt and desolation. He stood, drawing Yoda an angry glance before turning and walking away.

The little Jedi master listened as he crashed through the jungle toward the lakeside where his ship sat draped in wet weeds and moss.

"Much anger in him," he muttered. "Too long did we wait."

"The Rebellion has taught him discipline."

"Pah!" Yoda admonished. "No good it did. Given him attachments it has."

"She is his sister. This isn't just an attachment, Master, it is love."

"Need that, he does not."

"His father did."


	17. Exquisite, Ecstacy, Elated

**AN:** In thinking of the next three words I wanted to do something with happy words. So... here we go. : )

All Previous disclaimers apply!

These should be read along with "Cell, Rattle and Blanket."

**Exquisite**

The lightsaber flew into his open palm, igniting on contact. He swung it in an arc toward the Dark Lord's neck. Vader met the blow, shoving him back. He stumbled, arms flailing to maintain balance when something struck him in the chest, driving the breath from him and hurling him backward to crash into the wall.

Gasping he looked up, yelled in terror as Vader's saber thrust into his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. He screamed against the pain, lost in the exquisite agony of melting durasteel as it charred his uniform and seared the skin from his back.

**Ecstasy**

Vader pulled his saber free and the boy - his son - slumped to his knees before him, barely conscious. The Dark Lord smiled beneath his mask, Luke would have to get used to such a position, have to show due respect and supplication to his master.

He closed his eyes, drawing the Force to him, feeling the boy's physical power weaken even as his strength of darkness grew stronger, blacker. His son knew hatred and fury and yet he still denied himself the ecstasy of both.

There was yet time to teach him.

He turned away, deactivating his lightsaber.

**Elated**

A flicker of warning in the Force stopped Vader. He smiled, as the spit and hum of a lightsaber blade cut through the stillness of the room.

Elated at the darkness he felt, he drew his own sword and turned to face his injured son.

Howling in rage and pain Luke drew himself to his feet and staggered from the shadows to stand before his antagonist, his sword held high in his left hand.

"You challenge me?"

Luke faltered at the words, his knees folding beneath him, the lightsaber rolling from his grasp.

"There is yet hope for you, boy."

ooOOoo


	18. Soar, Dive, Thrust

**AN:** And the drabbles continue. Many thanks to Kazlyhn for suggesting these words.

All previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Soar**

He was sitting on the sand with his back against the dome watching a flock of Urusai soar on the rising thermals across the blue of the sky.

It was hot, approaching midday, but he didn't care; the Urusai didn't care. They were free; their huge wings spread wide as they looped and danced on the wind.

"_Blast it boy! What were you thinking?"_

_I was thinking of the future. I was thinking of applying to the Academy. I was thinking how I would tell you. I was thinking that..._

...some day he would be free, someday he would soar.

ooOOoo

**Dive**

Oil dripped onto the floor as he worked under the belly of the second-hand skyhopper. He shifted his position to reach into the cramped space to adjust the inertia damper coils and his elbow smeared through the black puddle.

"You'll have to wash that yourself."

"Uncle Owen? I didn't hear you come in," Luke glanced at the smear on his sleeve and shrugged.

The grizzled farmer cast an eye over the small craft; he could see the improvements Luke had made and nodded with reluctant approval.

"Well," Lars commented, "at least you're home and not at that dive in Anchorhead."

ooOOoo

**Thrust**

He thrust forward on the control column, pressed hard on the foot pedal and sent the X-Wing into a spiralling drop. The craft screamed toward the sand dunes.

"Luke! Pull up, he's not worth it!"

Luke grinned, whooped laughter, drawing the nose of his craft up a few hundred metres from the surface as he followed his target. He climbed steadily, pulled off a shot and blasted the last TIE fighter.

"Live a little, Wedge!"

"I'll live longer than you, that's for sure!"

Movement ahead caught his eye and he smiled; Urasai riding the thermals in a clear Tatooine sky.


	19. Whimper, Roar, Scream

AN: Many thanks to Kazlynh who suggested these words. I have returned to the thread previously touched upon in **Rattle, Cell, Blanket** and **Exquisite, Ecstasy, Elated** as I am nothing if not predictable.: )

All Previous disclaimers apply!

* * *

**Whimper**

Luke was asleep; curled and crammed into a dark nook of the training room. He was not often granted the sanctity of slumber. He had been forced to train, driven to the limits of his mental and physical endurances. However, Vader did not wish his son's mind shattered, nor his spirit crushed or body broken, but these things were necessary when Luke continued to deny his destiny.

As Vader stepped closer the boy uttered a small sound; a whimper of protest as though sensing an end to his peace.

It was time wake him.

It was time to tell him.

ooOOoo

**Roar**

Luke staggered to his feet, his left fist closing over the hilt of the lightsaber. He swallowed, watched Vader carefully, trying to gauge the Dark Lord's next move.

"The Jedi have failed."

Luke made no reply; he was used to Vader's taunting.

"They should have hidden you more carefully."

Luke clutched the lightsaber tighter.

"They should have known that your father would find you. Claim you."

"What?"

The dark side surrounded them; waiting, anticipating.

"I am your father."

He had expected a cry of denial, a roar of disbelief. Instead Luke dropped the lightsaber and fell quietly to his knees.

ooOOoo

**Scream**

The Force stormed within him; winds screaming, beating him as one word reverberated. He bowed his head, placed his hand to the floor and clutched the stump of his right arm to his chest.

_Father._

_My father._

His dreams shattered and collapsed around him; his identity ground under the harsh heel of truth, his hopes crushed.

He heaved in a shuddering breath; trying to calm, trying to slow the beat of his heart as realisation caved in.

He was lost and alone; kneeling on the floor at the feet of his sire.

The Dagobah vision was true.

He was Vader.


	20. Deception, Enigma, Honour

Many thanks to **MJ Mink** for suggesting these words and thanks to everyone who is reading these drabbles.

All previous disclaimers apply.

The Dark Thread continues...

* * *

**Deception**

He closed his eyes as his fingers curled around the floor grating. The stump of his right arm throbbed, the pain slicing up his arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony that grew in his chest; in his heart.

They lied.

They had all lied.

His whole life, his whole identity had been a deception. He was not what he thought he was; he was...

His father's son.

His tortured body shuddered with fatigue, fright and devastation. A bead of sweat ran from his face, dropped from the tip of his nose.

His father stood before him, waiting.

ooOOoo

**Enigma**

His father.

All his life his father had been an enigma. A mysterious man who had travelled and died on a freighter.

Then he was Jedi Knight and a good friend.

Rebel after Rebel came to him on hearing his father's name wanting to meet the son, wanting to share stories and memories of the deeds of Anakin Skywalker.

He was a hero who saved the galaxy. A dashing figure whose death was shrouded with mystery and assumption.

The hero was dead.

There was only Vader.

There was no doubt of the truth, no confusion or disbelief.

Still he waited.

ooOOoo

**Honour**

He needed to act. He could not stay on his knees forever.

The Force squalled within; a storm that battered and pounded his senses with bitterness and resentment.

They had misled him.

Vader had maimed and tortured him.

He had nothing left.

Nothing except...

A choice.

His honour and his shredded beliefs or... his father.

He sucked in a breath, could smell his own stench; his unwashed body. His fear.

He opened his eyes, pushed himself to his feet. He lifted his chin and regarded his father's dark mask.

"You... may be my father... but... you are not my master."


	21. Recoil, Resistance, Restrain

These are the last drabbles for 2010, although there is a holiday challenge coming up... I have enjoyed writing this darker Vader and I do hope to flesh out this story line further in the future.

As always - previous disclaimers still apply.

* * *

**Recoil**

Something inside Vader recoiled at his son's announcement. Something shrank, flinched at the words that the boy forced out in defiance. Luke had heard the truth, had felt it, and had accepted it.

It had not, however, meant that his captive son had accepted him.

It gave him a moment's pause.

"_...you're going down a path I can't follow."_

She had done the same. She had told him she loved him while refusing to accept him, had turned away from him, had turned to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, who had turned his wife against him, had now turned his son against him.

ooOOoo

**Resistance**

With a slow, burning, fury he raised his hand, reached out with the Force and grasped his son by the neck; lifting him into the air. He ignored the strangled gasps, ignored the lips that slowly began to turn blue.

"Obi-Wan will fail. You are my son. Mine."

Luke's remaining hand grasped at his throat, trying desperately to loosen the tight, invisible fingers.

With a quick flick of his wrist he threw Luke across the room. The boy thudded into the wall and dropped to the floor.

Vader towered over him. "Your resistance will only make my victory more satisfying."

ooOOoo

**Restrain**

He reigned in his anger, restrained his desire to punish, to dominate and destroy. There would be no death for his son.

He turned from the boy, gestured to the waiting duelling droids to come forward. He felt Luke's horror and hopeless understanding shudder through the Force as his father abandoned him to the darkness of the training room and to the merciless droids.

This would be his son's life; this room, these droids, until his spirit bent and snapped to the will of the Dark Side.

Until he found his knees once more and renounced the Jedi.

Renounced Kenobi.


	22. Angel, Sacrifice, Joy, Birth

**AN:** These words are part of a festive challenge and are based on words (twelve words posted in three sets of four) that have some meaning at this time of the year.

As always: previous disclaimers still apply.

* * *

**Angel**

From the day she walked into Watto's shop she had shone brighter than the twin suns at their highest. Among the debris and the junk he had been captivated by her smile, her laugh and her beauty.

During his Padawan training he had dreamed only of her. He had seen glimpses through the Force; a field of green, a lake, an arena of red stone and the towers of Coruscant.

His last dream had shown her asleep; lying at peace with her long curls adorned with tiny white flowers, her skin pale and her hands clasped before her.

His Angel.

ooOOoo

**Sacrifice**

He turned from the room, stepped outside into the roar of heat and noise of the volcanic eruptions. There was something beautiful about the stark violence of this place; the black and reds of this planet matching the colours of his heart.

It ended here.

The war was over.

He had brought...

_...death..._

...peace to the galaxy.

Those he had...

_...murdered..._

...sacrificed would not have died in vain.

"_Master Skywalker, there's too many of them. What are we going to do?"_

His tears were unexpected and unwanted; it was grief and guilt that wept from the remnants of Anakin Skywalker.

ooOOoo

**Joy**

Her eyes, so full of joy just a few short days ago, were now full of doubt, full of horror as she backed away from him.

Why was she doing this? Why wouldn't she listen to him?

He had only wanted to save her from his dream. Had only wanted to give her everything she had wished for; a galaxy at peace and a place where they could be together without losing everything they had achieved.

This had all been for her! Everything he had done, everything he had become had been for her.

His soul had been for her.

ooOOoo

**Birth**

The pain had been crippling, it had bent him double, sent him stumbling on unfamiliar legs and torn a cry of agony and rage from his new mask's enunciator.

He had killed her.

He had killed his child before it could draw breath.

Everything he had done, everything he had achieved for her had been wasted in a moment of anger.

Pointless.

Because she had turned from him. She had chosen the Jedi; had been poisoned by the Jedi lies and had doomed both herself and their child.

Why then, did her cries of child birth still haunt his dreams?


	23. Winter, Tree, Feast, Holy

**AN:** The holiday based words continue. I have struggled with these but I hope that I have done them justice.

* * *

**Winter**

Yoda had assured him it was winter, but Luke doubted this as he stripped out of the sweat sodden undershirt. He didn't mind the heat, had grown up in a place much warmer than this swamp, but it was the humidity he struggled with. The damp air was heavy, oppressive; pressing against his body and sapping his strength.

When he made a mistake, when he stumbled, Yoda just demanded more of him, told him that the Force would give him the strength he required.

He threw the shirt to the mud in anger.

What he wouldn't give for a bath.

ooOOoo

**Tree**

He sat cross-legged in front of the towering tree. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow as he tried to find his focus within the Force, as he listened to the words and murmurs of his master as Yoda coached him in meditation.

Slowly the little Jedi's words phased out, the noises of the jungle faded into the background and he smiled as the Force flooded through him. He had never felt such intensity, such strength; it thrummed through him, teased him with promises of power and invincibility it was...

_...his face behind the broken mask..._

... the dark side.

ooOOoo

**Feast**

Power.

He dreamed of power, of invincibility.

He stood on the balcony of a tall building that soared over the cityscape. The view beyond and below was of a vast expanse of glittering towers, of endless traffic lanes that crisscrossed between the buildings.

Above him the sky was filled with massive ships; littered with darting fighters.

It was all his.

He closed his eyes, tightened his hands on the balustrade and drew the Force to him. He felt the living essence of the population below him, felt everything; all the fear, all the hate and anger.

He smiled.

He feasted.

ooOOoo

**Holy**

His eyes snapped open and he yelled in shock at the face that leaned over him. Throwing his blanket aside he stood up.

"Please don't do that, Master."

"It is not me that you fear, young Skywalker."

Luke said nothing. He reached for his weapons belt and drew it on, already feeling better as it settled on his hips.

"Dreamed you did."

"Of a city, conquered and subjugated."

"And you?"

He looked away, ashamed. "I was the conqueror."

Since the tree Luke had been tested; tempted by Darkness. Yoda could only hope that Luke was stronger than his unholy father.


	24. Snow, Gift, Shepherd, Fire

**AN:** These are the last of the holiday themed drabbles and, apart from the the last one, a little change in tone for me. But be aware, I'm not good at humour! : )

For those who are asking about **Dark Times** and **Consequences** they will be continuing. I just need time to work on them and at the moment I don't have a lot of spare time on my hands.

* * *

**Snow**

On bringing his X-Wing in to land on Hoth for the first time Luke decided he loved snow. The views as he skimmed across the sky astounded him. The white expanse, occasionally broken by dark rock, was breathtaking and the squad chuckled as his croaked, "wow," crackled over the comm.

In the hangar he climbed down the ladder, slipped and landed on his butt. With the Rogues' laughter ringing in his ears he struggled to get up and, as he did so, a ball of snow smacked him on the back of the head.

"Glad you could join us, Kid!"

ooOOoo

**Gift**

He stood in the small, hollowed out nook dismally looking at the sleeping space that had been assigned to him and wondered where he was going to store his gear. His breath steamed as he exhaled and he wondered what the temperature was and how he was supposed to sleep when it was so cold.

He sighed, the warm air billowing and dispersing in the cold as he turned around. He shrugged, smiled. It could have been worse. He could have been sharing with Wedge.

His aunt had always said he had a gift for making the best of things.

ooOOoo

**Shepherd**

The alarm jerked him from his dreams and he shot out of the bunk, crying aloud as his bare feet landed on ice.

"Shit!" He danced as he pulled on socks and boots and ran from the room still pulling his flight suit over his shoulders.

Wedge barrelled into the corridor, jogged beside him.

"What's happening?"

"Could be a drill," Antilles suggested.

The squad spilled into the hangar and into chaos. Rebel personnel were running around the cavern between ships and speeders flapping their arms and hooting as they shepherded the indigenous species.

Luke groaned. "'Tauntauns have got out again..."

ooOOoo

**Fire**

He stumbled in the deep snow, dragging his legs up and over the depths of the drifts only to sink down again with each step.

He was so cold, so cold... so tired.

"Keep going..." His voice was a lost to the howling gale of the blizzard. Shards of snow ripped into his face, created fire in his wounds, froze the blood on his cheek. He held his scarf against his face, but it was a futile gesture as he needed his arms to balance as he walked through the snow.

He fell.

He lay still.

This was easy.

"_Luke..."_


	25. Red, White, Black

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who has been reading these little snippets and thanks, too, to everyone who has commented.

We have a New Year with a new drabble challenge. However, with these, I return to the story thread last visited in Recoil, Resistence and Restrain.

As always: All previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Red**

Red.

It was all red.

That one colour was his life.

He stared at the ceiling through swollen eyes, licked his cracked and peeling lips, feeling fresh blood swell and trickle warmly down his chin.

He smiled; blood was red, too.

The door opened and he closed his eyes against the nightmare from which he could not wake. This nightmare of red hues; scarlet blood, crimson and burgundy bruises and the ruby blade of the lightsaber he now heard activated.

"Get up."

He rolled onto his belly, pushed up and stood to face his father wishing the colours would change.

ooOOoo

**White**

His vision whitened out; a blinding glare that tore sight from him and seared his senses. He screamed, dropped to his knees and clutched his injured arm to his chest.

His world was white; his world was pain.

Isn't this how it all started?

Hadn't he been arrogant and prideful?

Hadn't he thought he could take on his father's killer?

Hadn't he had been brought to his knees by the stroke of blade; seized and captured and brought here to be trained and twisted by...

_... my father..._

He smiled as the white faded and his vision cleared.

He knew...

ooOOoo

**Black**

He grasped his lightsaber and stood, swaying on his feet, still clutching his arm to his body. The hand had been lost on Bespin and Vader's latest saber swing had taken much of the remaining forearm.

They stood in stillness while the Force squalled and stormed; shimmering black and blinding light warring as father and son rested on the cusp of destiny.

Luke flipped the lightsaber, held it lengthwise. He eased himself to his knees, dipped his head and offered the sword to his father - knowing there would be a time when he would wish for the red to return.

ooOOoo


	26. Crack, Catalyst, Cage

**AN: **Thanks to everyone who is reading these little drabbles. I hope that you continue to enjoy them. These next lot follow directly on from **Red, White, Black. **

As always - previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Crack**

Vader remained still as his son kneeled before him and offered up the deactivated lightsaber in submission.

He had not expected this so quite so soon.

The boy had accepted their relationship, but had refused to capitulate, had denied his father mastery over him. Luke had fought, struggled - had shouted his defiance and screamed his denials as he pushed the darkness away, only to leave himself open to its insidious crawl.

The Dark Side had slithered in between the cracks and now lay nested and warm within him.

The more he fought, the darker Luke became.

So why now?

ooOOoo

**Catalyst**

The hand holding the sword out wavered; shook.

Luke's head was bowed, eyes to the floor as he waited for his father to respond. Shock trembled through limbs, agony sliced through the fresh wound, he felt giddy, faint. But still he waited, maintained his position of supplication as Vader pondered this unexpected move.

He needed this, he needed this moment. He needed Vader to act, to provide the catalyst, for he could not do this without one.

He gritted his teeth, fought to still the shaking of his body, battled against the pain that overwhelmed him and steadied his hand.

ooOOoo

**Cage**

Vader could feel the effort it was taking for Luke to maintain the position. His son had a strength of will, a stubbornness that drove him and that could very well condemn him and encage him forever.

And yet...

His eyes flickered to the hilt that Luke offered, to the base of the sword.

... if given the right direction that tenacity and spirit could be used.

He reached out.

In that instant Luke straightened, brought his head up, and he smiled as he activated the lightsaber - its blade extending toward his own chest.

He cried out, just once.

ooOOoo


	27. Warm, Cold, Indifferent

**AN:** Many thanks to those who are reading these "Moments." This thread won't leave me alone and I really should write the story properly, but I have Dark Times and Consequences to work on and just don't have the time just yet to write another long tale.

As always, previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Warm**

The clinical smell of pure oxygen caught in the back of his throat making him gag, his body jerking against the warm fluid that encased him, pain flaring from his chest and right arm. He dragged open his eyes and was unsurprised to find himself suspended in a bacta tank; the dark shadow of his father's form visible through the viscous liquid.

He knew he would not be allowed to die. Even as the sabre pierced his chest he had known there would be no escape.

But he'd had to try: he'd had to have a final act of rebellion.

**Cold**

Vader watched dispassionately as his son's body thrashed briefly in the tank, sensors indicating that the boy was now awake and aware. He had not needed the readouts to inform him of Luke's condition: he could feel him.

Such strength, such pure unadulterated power, pouring into the Force surrounding him.

There was rolling horror as awareness descended, a sheer terror at finding himself still alive, an agony of spirit that cried for release, a bleak and blackened hatred and then...

... there was acceptance, the cold realisation that there would be no death, no escape.

That there never would be.

**Indifferent**

The bacta drained away and he was lifted out, carried and placed on the cool durasteel of a medical bench. The droids worked quickly as his father watched; restraints were fitting around his ankles and remaining wrist, the bacta remaining on his body was flushed away, and a fresh saturated dressing placed across his chest wound.

He remained still and quiet, detached and indifferent, as a cybernetic arm was carried and placed on the bench beside his arm stump.

Vader knew the agony of this procedure, had cried and screamed as his cybernetics were fitted.

His son was utterly silent.


	28. Death, Dignity, Desire

**AN:** FFN seems to have fixed itself again, so I thought I'd take the moment of opportunity and post these drabbles. Again, the "Dark" thread continues.

Many thanks to those who have commented on the drabbles.

All previous disclaimers apply!

* * *

**Death**

It was with pride that he watched his son stride from the turbolift toward him. It was with pride that he saw the bridge crew cringe with fear at his passing and it was pride that rose, swelled, within as his son kneeled before him and dipped his head in supplication.

"It is done?"

"Yes, father."

Pride again. Vader turned from him, left him kneeling, looked out beyond the view port to the vastness of the Galaxy, to his Empire.

Out there his son's title of Darth was forgotten, unused, needless.

He was simply the _Fuar Bas._

The Cold Death.

**Dignity**

He stared at the cold durasteel deck plates waiting for his father to dismiss him. He did not move, he did not blink, he merely breathed.

His father could keep him like this for hours, could keep him on his knees and strip him of his dignity if he so pleased.

He was the only being who could.

Palpatine had tried.

Had failed.

The old man's neck had snapped in his hand like a gnarled twig.

His lips tugged into a brief smirk, but he smothered it, hid it, as Vader's boots stepped once more into his line of vision.

**Desire**

Vader turned at the burst of emotions from his son. There had been satisfaction, hatred and a searing, naked malice.

It was gone now, replaced by the cold indifference that the boy had carried since the day he was lifted from the bacta tank.

But Vader was not fooled.

His son had been a Skywalker.

His blood burned with desire, with passion. He craved the heat of battle, the blazing flames of war and conquest. He raged and delighted in each stroke of his lightsaber as it brought him closer to the one thing he craved the most.

His freedom.


	29. Helpless, Lost, Broken

AN: Many thanks to those who have been kind to comment on these drabbles. This next set of words were kindly suggested by Kataja.

All previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Helpless**

He stared at the man hanging helpless on the wall - cruel binders gouging into wrists, shoulders pulled and popped from joints, trailing blood weeping lazy paths down his arms and bruised abdomen.

Stepping forward he reached out and took the captive's chin, gently angling his head upward until the dull brown eyes met his. There was still strength there, still a desire to fight and he had to admire the strength that his old friend still possessed.

He spoke softly. "There is no hope here, no last minute rescue. You know that, don't you?"

Wedge Antilles closed his eyes.

**Lost**

"You are lost, Wedge," he cocked his head, brushed a thumb against the bruised cheek. "Lost to the Rogues, to the Rebellion. There is no going back."

Antilles hitched a breath, stifled a groan as broken ribs protested any movement. Eyes opening he looked at the man before him. He looked so familiar, the blond hair, the blue eyes, the faint scars on his cheek where the wampa had clawed him. The sight of Skywalker should have warmed him, should have pleased him. They shared a history; the same triumphs and tragedies.

Yavin.

Hoth.

He had missed Luke, mourned him.

**Broken**

"You must see that, you must understand, Wedge. You are broken."

And this stirred Antilles anger, snapped him from his despair. How dare he, of all people, do this.

"Ju...ust like... y...you," he rasped.

His chin was dropped as the _Fuar Bas_ stepped back, eyes flashing in rage, fists tightening by his sides and Wedge steeled himself for another blow.

It didn't come. Instead Skywalker turned his back to him and strode from the cell. The door slammed shut, the lights snapped off, leaving Wedge alone in the cold darkness.

"Tr...uth hurts, huh, L..uke...?" he breathed into the empty silence.


	30. Touch, Talent, Take

AN: Many thanks to those who have read, and to those who have left a comment.

Edit: I forgot to say in the previous chapter and then in this one that, although this is the same dark thread as the last few chapters, it is not in sequential order. The last chapter - and this one - occur _before _the Fuar Bas (Luke) kills Palpatine. My apologies for any confusion, I just go where the words take me.

Previous Disclaimers apply

* * *

**Touch**

When entering the room the floor looked truly black, a gleaming slick of reflective darkness devoid of colour or light. But closer, he could see the lighter patterns within it, could follow their paths as they wove themselves through the black stone.

He was on his knees, head bowed to his Emperor as he waited for his father to stop speaking and for the attention of both Dark Lords to turn to him. He stared at the floor, at the swirls of muted grey in the polished black marble.

He reached down, touched the surface wishing he could be marble.

**Talent**

"The floor interests you, young Skywalker?"

He froze. Keeping his head down, not daring to look up he answered. "No, Master."

"No?"

He could hear the rustle of fabric as Palpatine stood, footsteps as he descended the steps. Luke braced himself.

"You are talented, boy: strong with the Force. The Dark Side sings in your presence. Can't you feel it?"

Swallowing Luke answered. "Yes, Master." For it was true, he had accepted darkness and darkness had taken him.

A stench of decay and cold, gnarled, fingers closed over his. "And yet you crave the lighter shades, still."

"No, Master."

"Liar!"

**Take**

The Emperor's rage hurled him across the throne room; he thudded into the back wall narrowly missing the red guards stationed there.

He lay still, fighting for breath, as Palpatine hissed at Vader.

"You will take your son to detention..."

_No... not again..._

"... have him kill the rebel pilot."

_Wedge..._

"Antilles has not yet divulged..." Vader began.

"There are always other pilots, other Rebels. Your son needs taught a lesson. He will kill his friend."

Luke closed his eyes in acceptance, in understanding. He would obey his master, he would kill Wedge and the grey within him would blacken.


	31. Delight, Relish, Enthral

**AN:** Many thanks to those reading these drabbles. This next set are connected to the darker thread that's been going on for sometime - one day I should reorganise them into the correct order, but I write as the words inspire me too.

**Previous disclaimers still apply.  
**

* * *

**Delight**

He had thought Palpatine's death would free him. Had thought it would, somehow, absolve him. He had squeezed the life from the old man with his bare hands, had felt the darkness of his life force fade, had eased off the pressure and allowed relief, a breath, a flicker of eyelids as Palpatine stared him in the face.

He had smiled at the Emperor. Smiled and snapped his neck.

As the body thudded to the floor he had thought there would be more; perhaps absolution for Wedge, for the others, perhaps relief, joy, delight.

There had been only quiet pleasure.

**Relish**

His boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped from his shuttle and walked with his men to the front line. He relished these moments, savoured the thrill of battle, the freedom from conscious thought as he activated his sword and led his troops into heat and mayhem, into blood and death.

This is what he had been created for. This was his destiny, his purpose.

They called him _Fuar Bas._

They were wrong.

He did not coldly kill. He killed with passion, in frenzied moments of searing exhilaration.

He broke through the ranks, ignited his blood-red lightsaber and charged.

**Enthral**

It was over.

The battle won.

He heaved in a breath, stepped back from the new corpse lying burned and bloodied at his feet. Shutting off his sword he wiped the grime of the battle from his face with the cuff of his sleeve and glanced across the cityscape. Enthralled he watched the fires burn in tall towers, the smoke billowing into the sky to caress the bellies of the destroyers that hung there. Black fighters darted like carrion flies over the carcass of the conquered city.

He froze, recognising the scene.

His dream on Dagobah – it was this city.


	32. Abused, Beaten, Bruised

**AN:** My thanks to those who have been kind enough to leave a comment, but also thanks to everyone who has read these drabbles and put them on alert and in their favourites.

The current Dark Thread continues...

**All previous disclaimers apply.**

* * *

**Abused**

And so now he stood on the balcony with the cityscape stretching out before him. The glittering lights of the towers muted the darkness of the night; the soft tones of light shielding the city from full blackness.

He lowered his head, his gaze going to the sheer drop that lay below him. The distance was dizzying, terrifying and it fell away into shadow and gloom.

This city, abused by the battle, had restored light but it couldn't hide the darkness that lay at its heart.

"_Dreamed you did."_

He closed his eyes against the memory and whispered.

"Yes, master."

**Beaten**

He tightened his fists fighting against the images of another time, of another place and another man.

"_Dreamed you did."_

"_Of a city, conquered and subjugated."_

"_And you?"_

"_I was the conqueror."_

Beaten by the past, by ancient feelings of shame, he opened his eyes and heaved in a breath of air and... stilled as he sensed the feather like touch of another.

This was not his father, this was not a bludgeoning, punishing, invasion of his mind designed to drive him to his knees and into submission.

This was a gentle brush of curiosity and wonder, and of hope.

**Bruised**

Looking up into the overcast sky he followed the trace of contact. Reaching out into the Force, into its yawning vastness, he trailed behind the presence seeking to find the source, the person who had touched him so gently.

_It had been so long..._

_So long since..._

He staggered backward, colliding with the wall behind him as he was repelled by another's mind, this one stronger, potent and protective. The hope vanished leaving behind the impression of cunning merriment and the underlying scent of rotting vegetation.

Rubbing at his bruised elbow the _Fuar Bas_ smiled.

He had thought him dead.


	33. Sweep, Subdue, Sing

**AN:** These are not my best offerings thus far; but I wrote them on the 24th and 25th of September with my husband moaning at me for spending too much time on the computer/laptop. He died suddenly on the 26th - our wedding anniversary.

**These are dedicated to my husband of 14 years. Sleep well David...  
**

* * *

_All previous disclaimers still apply_...**  
**

**Sweep**

He stilled his smile, swallowed his feelings; silenced them as the sweeping touch of another swamped him. He turned at his father's presence; as the Dark Lord of the Sith's malignancy crawled over him looking for the source of his son's brief and fleeting feelings of...

_Joy..._

... curiosity and wonder.

From behind him he could sense his father's approach and he dropped to his knees waiting for his sire to step out onto the balcony.

"Perhaps you have forgotten our old master's lessons, my son."

He looked up at Vader's bulk, his lips pulling in humour. "I have, father."

**Subdue**

He was thrown backward by the arching backhand, landing hard against the bars of the balustrade. Dragging a hand across his split lip he drew himself back into a kneeling position as his father stepped closer.

He bowed his head, allowed blood to drip to the floor. "I have forgotten Palpatine's lessons father, but not yours."

He felt his father's hesitation, his father's pride and accomplishment and once more he had to subdue his feelings, smother his satisfaction with fear and defeat; he had to be the compliant son.

"Explain," Vader ordered.

Licking his lips, tasting blood, he answered.

"Yoda."

**Sing**

There was a creak of leather as Vader's fists tightened. "He lives?"

There was hesitation, a moment of doubt, before the answer came to him. "I felt him, father."

He could feel the Dark Lord's fury, singing through the Force. It was deep, rich and red; a blinding rage.

"Send me, father," he begged. "Send me, and I will bring him to you. He is old, weak and..."

"He was a powerful Jedi."

"I am a powerful, Sith," he declared hoping that his father could not feel his uncertainty.

He remained still, holding his breath, until...

"Go... and destroy him."


	34. Danger, Dark, Despair

**AN:** I would like to thank everyone who has expressed their condolences after the death of my husband. I am hopeful that my muse has started to speak to me again and that it is a sign that I am starting to heal.

All previous disclaimers apply...

* * *

**Danger**

The swell of danger rippled through the Force, each wave rising and falling as it spread throughout the Galaxy. Those beings sensitive to the living energy of the universe paused for a moment; some shivered as though chilled, others grimaced with pain, gasping at the strength of the warning that clutched them.

But most, untrained and unknowing, shook off the feeling as the wave passed by and returned to their activities, putting the strange sensation to the back of their minds until they had forgotten it completely.

But, for others, the sense of foreboding trailed after them like a shadow.

**Dark**

Eyes snapped open, seeing at first only darkness and gloom before sight slowly adjusted and the shapes of gnarled and twisted trees could be seen through the murky light. Hands sank into soft dirt and decaying matter they pushed upward and legs unfurled and straightened to stand.

"Sense something, do you?"

"Yes, master... a threat, a... warning."

"Hmmm... a storm is coming. Sensed me, he did... and you."

"Me?" A flutter of panic, quickly quashed by a calming breath and the Force folded about the apprentice, soothing and healing fears. "I have been careful, Master."

A chuckle. "I have not."

**Despair**

Realisation dawned and the apprentice's eyes strayed to the belt that hung on a nearby tree branch and to the lightsaber hooked to it.

"That mind I touched... the despair... I felt... that was him?"

"Yes," he watched his pupil closely, watched as hands wiped dirt onto filthy pants.

"He's in so much pain... he has suffered so much and... I never knew," guilt under scored the words. "I never understood."

"Know what you must do, do you?"

There was a moment of hesitation, a reluctance to accept what was being suggested, then a nod. "I must end his suffering."


	35. Faith, Hope, Absolution

**AN:** I'd like to thank again those of you who have expressed your condolences.

All previous disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Faith **

There had to be faith.

Faith in the Force, that it would not fail him, that his powers would not diminish when he would need them so badly.

Faith that the Jedi Master was not yet dead, that the surging ebb he had felt all those months ago was not Yoda's death as he had feared.

Faith that the mind he had touched, the mind that had powerfully repelled him was indeed his ancient teacher's.

Faith in himself, that what he had once believed could still be true and that, like black marble, he still had some trace of white.

**Hope**

There had to be hope.

Hope that there was still some glimmer of Luke Skywalker in the approaching Sith. Hope that the feelings she had sensed before Yoda had intervened held true. Hope that compassion and love had not been wiped out by the _Fuar Bas_ persona.

"_Forever will darkness dominate his destiny."_

Hope that she could stand strong should the man who now crashed through the jungle of Dagobah bear no resemblance to her brother.

"_He did not choose Darkness, Master. It chose him."_

Hope that she was right and Yoda wrong and that Luke could still be saved.

**Absolution**

Leia swallowed as the man stepped from the jungle. In her mind she had been expecting Luke – blue eyed, unruly hair grown collar length, an easy smile and a willing laugh. She had expected to feel his passion, his boisterous exuberance and his fervour for his cause.

What she saw was different creature; a thin, blackened figure. Scars criss-crossed his face, pulling at his lips, drawing them into a sneering smirk as he studied her. His eyes, his sky blue eyes, were now sickly yellow and red rimmed irises.

He did not give the appearance of a man seeking absolution.


	36. Reunion, Reckoning, Rejoice

**AN:** These are the last drabbles of 2011 and I'm not sure if there will be any in 2012 - if there are then I suspect it will be a different thread or individual drabbles.

Previous Disclaimers Still Apply...

* * *

**Reunion**

This wasn't the reunion he had expected.

Not Leia.

Not Here.

And not with a Lightsaber in her hand and the Force shining from within her.

He wanted to run to her, wanted to fall to his knees before her and beg forgiveness for his sins, for all the evils his father had loosed upon the galaxy, for all the times that he had obeyed his father's bidding.

And enjoyed it.

Instead he stood his ground, swallowed his surprise. "Yoda?"

"He is beyond you now, Sith."

Her truth saddened him, but her truth was mixed with uncertainty.

**Reckoning**

"My old master may be beyond me, Princess, but you are not."

Leia steadied herself at the implied threat and returned with, "I am a Jedi Knight, Luke."

He paused at his old name, at the familiarity of it, at the longing that arose within him at the sound of it.

She must have sensed this. "Luke..."

"My reckoning is not with you, Princess," he told her, brusquely. "I was to confront my old master."

She smiled sadly at this, and softly said, "I am to confront my brother, just as he confronted our father."

The Force stilled around them and silence fell.

**Rejoice**

Luke dropped to his knees.

_"They should have known that your father would find you."_

_ "I am your father."_

Leia staggered back under the explosion of images that suddenly rushed her.

_...a lightsaber amputating a hand..._

_... a black gloved hand striking a bruised face..._

_... a lightsaber piercing flesh..._

_... an old man's neck snapping..._

_... a city, burning..._

_... a slab of marble veined with flecks of grey and white..._

She stared at her brother, cautiously approached him, not daring to hope, not daring to rejoice just yet.

She placed a hand on his head.

"Luke?"

"Save me..."


	37. New, Fresh, Beginning

**AN: **I just want to say thanks to everyone for their kind wishes and PMs following on from my husband's sudden death. We are all healing and we are thankful for such support friends.

It's a new year and we are on a new set of drabbles. Also, for the time being, a different topic!

All previous disclaimers apply!

* * *

**New**

Beru held the babe close to her chest and tucked the blanket in around him. She trailed her fingers down the soft cheek and smiled as the child turned to root for a teat.

"You're hungry!"

The baby grunted with frustration, his mouth opening and closing and she gently placed the knuckle of her little finger at his lips. He grabbed it, suckled hard, pulled away and mewled his disappointment.

"Hurry, Owen!" She called, laughing. "I don't think this little guy can wait much longer!"

Owen hurried in, looking harassed and handed his wife a new bottle of milk formula.

ooOOoo

**Fresh**

Owen watched as Beru fed the boy they had agreed to home and raise; his step-brother's son.

A man he had met only once.

He was not doing this for Anakin, he was doing this for the child's grandmother. A woman whose love and selflessness had lifted him and his father from the depths of despair after his own mother's death and given them fresh hope.

The Jedi had said very little about the events that lead to the child being orphaned, had only said his parents were dead.

Owen was no Jedi, but even he could recognise a lie.

ooOOoo

**Beginning **

They had bathed him, dressed him in a sleep suit and laid the sleeping baby in Owen's old crib. Beru fussed around him, snugly tucking the blankets in while whispering soothing nonsense.

Owen sat on their own bed and pulled off his boots. "We should turn in," he advised, "We may not get much sleep tonight, or tomorrow or..." He shrugged, "for the next twenty years."

Beru laughed.

He reached out, tugged her down on top of him, nuzzled her neck.

"You do realise this is the beginning of the end?"

"No," she murmured. "We just have to be quieter."


	38. Stroke, Straddle, Stun

**AN:** Many thanks to everyone who has been commenting on Moments! Your kindness and comments have been helping me through my darker days after losing my husband.

**All previous disclaimers apply...**

* * *

**Stroke**

Beru sat the toddler on the floor and piled his collection of toy speeders next to him. She stroked his white blond hair.

"Now, stay here and play."

Luke flashed her a smile. "Pay me, An Boo?"

"I'll play with you later, your auntie has to cook dinner for Uncle Owen coming home."

"Un Own, late," Luke solemnly told her as he flew a model of a swoop bike through the air. "Bike cash!"

Beru crouched beside her nephew. "Why would you say that, Luke?"

The boy slammed the model hard onto the floor, breaking off the steering vanes.

"BANG!"

ooOOoo

**Straddle**

Straddling the seat of his swoop bike Owen Lars tightened the grip of his thighs as he leaned sideways, taking the bike in a sweeping arc. He grinned, enjoying the speed, the exhilaration and the freedom the bike gave him.

The bike cut through air, whipping his hair and tugging with some force on his clothing. He was eager to get home, hungry after working in the fields all day. He had fixed the problem with the south ridge vaporator, but he knew that it would eventually need replaced.

He didn't see the wamp rat.

He only felt the impact.

ooOOoo

**Stun**

It was getting dark.

Beru had put Luke down to sleep and now frantically paced in front of the dome.

Owen wasn't home yet.

She lifted the macrobinoculars and scanned the horizon and her breath caught in her throat as she spotted two figures limping her way.

It seemed to take an age before Obi-Wan and Owen reached her. Owen, looking bruised and battered and holding his right arm awkwardly, tried to smile at her.

"I crashed," he told her.

Stunned, Beru could only answer. "I know."

The Jedi caught her eye and she nodded at his unspoken question.

_Luke?_


	39. Arouse, Provoke, Inflame

**AN:  
**I am a little late in post March's drabbles but here they are! Thanks to everyone who has been reading these Moments - especially to those who have been kind enough to leave a comment. I hope that you continue to enjoy this new thread that seems to be emerging.

* * *

**Arouse**

Vaguely listening to the teacher's voice drone in the background Luke closed his eyes, stretched his legs out in front of him and dropped his head to the desk. Someone coughed at the back of the small classroom, he thought it was Deak.

The history of Tatooine was hardly a topic of interest and...

"... until it was recently outlawed by the Imperial Garrison, Pod Racing was popular among the species that colonised Tatooine."

His curiosity aroused, Luke opened his eyes and sat up as the room dimmed and the holoplayer crackled to life at the front of the class.

ooOOoo

**Provoke**

"Shown here is the Boonta Eve Classic from twenty years ago when, for the first time in the race's history, it was won by a human."

Luke leaned forward watching the flickering hologram from long ago. The pods flew at incredible speeds as they burst around corners and over and under obstacles. His heart beat faster; a grin grew on his lips as he watched the little racers zipped past the stands of spectators provoking something within him.

He felt... _different_.

He felt as though he had just seen something he was born to do.

He was going to fly.

ooOOoo

**Inflame**

Inflamed, suddenly agitated, Luke squirmed in his seat as the hologram paused and froze on one image.

A murmur of amazement rippled through the class.

"The history files of this race were corrupted and the name of the winner is lost. This short clip is all that remains of the race. But, as you can see, the winner was not much older than all of you."

Luke stared in astonishment at the boy, at the sun bleached blond hair, at the blue eyes.

The boy looked like him.

Sensing something he glanced up and found the teacher staring at him.

ooOOoo


	40. Dry, Home, Wind

**AN: **I know that I seem to have fallen off the face of the planet recently - sorry about that! Life has just been awfully busy and my writing has had to be sacrificed to concentrate on other things. To those waiting on updates for Dark Times, Consequences and Downfall - they are still being written, albeit slowly, and they will be updated and completed as time allows.

Many thanks to everyone who has been kind about to comment on Moments and my other tales - I will reply individually by PM as time allows.

**There are two sets of drabbles for these words. The 1st set follows the current Tatooine thread. The second set is in response to an additional challenge not to write the words about Tatooine and is not related the the first set.  
**

**As before - all previous disclaimers apply...  
**

* * *

**Dry**

Beru dipped her fingers into the small tub of moisturiser and glanced into the mirror as she carefully spread the cream over her skin. She leaned forward frowning at the lines that appeared on her forehead and at the side of her eyes.

This planet was ruthless; sucking the moisture from anything and anyone. People always looked older than their years here – it was the curse of Tatooine.

The heat of the days, the cold nights, the winds, the sand, the harshness of the desert sucked the life from everyone who settled here.

And yet, she had never been happier.

**Home**

This was her home.

She had grown up here, had spent her whole life on this planet, on farms.

This was where she belonged. This place was her life and she did not dream for herself, nor did she need dreams as she was content.

Her dreams were for another. Her dreams were for a future for the child who had come into her life and changed it forever.

The little boy who had burst into the homestead the day before and had zoomed around the courtyard, with arms spread wide imitating the sounds of pod racers.

He would fly!

**Wind**

Beru replaced the lid on the jar of cream and frowned, cocking her head as a low rumble of sound played in the background, filling the silence of the early morning.

There was a scrape of boot steps as Owen entered the room. The farmer threw himself onto the bed and drew off his boots.

"Sandstorm," he grinned, patting the bed.

"There are chores to be done inside," she reminded him, happily curling against his body.

"They can wait," Owen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Our little pilot?"

He chuckled, kissed her. "Dreaming of wind and wings."

ooOOoo

**Dry**

The slight figure crouched in the dry dirt, fingers entwined at the back of his lowered head, was surrounded by dozens of soldiers with rifles held high and sighted toward him.

It looked, Vader mused as he approached, like over kill.

One unarmed boy, caught and cornered, being treated with the same respect and regard as an entire battalion of captured enemy troops.

The ranks surrounding the prisoner parted for their commander and closed behind him as he walked through them.

But this youth was something more, was something not seen by the Galaxy for two decades.

He was Jedi.

**Home**

Vader walked around the captive, noticing the trembling of his thighs as he maintained the crouch, seeing bruising on knuckles, taking in the blood tinged slashes in the Alliance uniform and drag marks in the dirt caused by the troopers dragging away their dead and injured.

"You are far from home," Vader noted.

"You destroyed my home," the reply was rough, forced through gritted teeth.

Vader smiled, thrilled by the anger he felt, the seething rage that was only just held in check – the boy was powerful.

"Did I?"

The boy shifted his feet and the soldiers around them tensed.

**Wind**

Minutes passed before the boy answered.

"You know you did... father."

The Force sang, deeper and darker than before.

The boy knew!

"That place was not your home. You were born for greater things."

"Like you?"

Vader turned from him. "You have a choice. Make it."

He had reached the outer ranks before the boy acted. Vader turned, threw up his arms and shields as the winds of the storm raged.

In the quiet that followed dying men moaned and blood dripped.

The scrape of soft footsteps stopped before him and Vader let his hands fall upon his son's shoulders.


	41. Father, Mother, Child

**AN: **I know folks are waiting for chapters for my other tales - and they are slowly taking shape - but I am finding the drabbles easier to do. Well, they are shorter! : )

All Previous Disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Father**

Owen wrapped his arms around Beru and held her close. Her head rested against his shoulder and he could feel her breathing hard, could almost feel the physical effort it was taking her to control her emotions. She took in another shuddering breath and slowly let it out.

"I'm so sorry, Owen."

He stiffened at her whisper, guilt lancing though him as she apologised.

"No, Beru," he murmured, pulling her tighter, comforting her. "No sorry, no regrets. It's no-one's fault."

His words sounded false even to his own ears. He did have one regret.

He would never be a father.

**Mother**

Beru would never be a mother.

They would never have a child together. All their hopes and dreams of raising a family dashed and broken leaving the remnants to trickle away like grains of sand down the side of a vaporator after a storm.

A fault in biology robbing their children of life, miscarrying them from the nurture of their mother's womb. The names they had chosen for their son, for their daughter, would remain with them; unborn ghosts haunting them as the years passed.

It was over now.

"Come on," he whispered, as she sobbed. "Time to go home."

**Child**

The farm was quiet now and Owen slowly turned down the power for the night. The lights dimmed the illumination, leaving just enough for him to see his way to the bedroom. They were both tired from the day, both drained physically and emotionally and they both needed sleep before the heavy work of the day ahead.

Beru wasn't in the bedroom.

He found her in Luke's room; sitting on the edge of the child's bed gazing at the sleeping ten year old.

Shame cut through him as he considered his nephew.

They were parents – in every way that mattered.


	42. Small, Still, Moment

**AN: **Just a quick thanks to everyone who has been reading the drabbles. These are sort of connected to the Owen and Beru thread, but from Obi-Wan's POV...

All Previous Disclaimers apply...

* * *

**Small**

Obi-Wan sat in the corner of the crowded cargo hold watching the moving masses, the fleeing refugees that were crammed into the space. This was his fourth ship since he had parted company from Bail Organa and Yoda and began his journey into exile.

Here he was just one more migrant fleeing the core as the Empire consolidated its power. His Jedi robes were folded and packed away in his bag, his lightsaber hidden in the folds of his non-descript clothes.

No-one had recognised him; no-one had challenged him.

But many had commented on the small blond bundle he carried.

**Still**

The suns were lower in the sky and Obi-Wan knew that he did not have much time left to return to his small abode and secure it before nightfall.

But he couldn't tear himself away from the scene before him.

He stared through the macrobinoculars watching as Owen Lars chased the giggling boy across the sand of the homestead. The farmer caught the child and swung him around, gathered him in for quick hug before setting him down to run again.

But the child stilled, his head cocked as though hearing something and he turned and smiled in Obi-Wan's direction.

**Moment**

This was a fight that Obi-Wan knew he could not win.

And yet, had he not been in similar situations?

Those times in the past when he had been backed against a wall or found himself out numbered or had the odds stacked against him.

There had always been hope, there had always been Anakin.

"_Ben?"_

The soft tones could have been real, or they could have been the Force. He glanced into the hanger and saw Anakin's son.

And in that small, still, moment Obi-Wan knew what he had to do.

Even now his destiny was in Anakin's hands.


	43. Twist, Turn, Tilt

**AN:  
**

I'd like to thank everyone for taking the time to read my fic. I hope you enjoy the latest drabbles and for those waiting for more of Consequences, Dark Times and Downfall - there is much more to come. It just may take a while...

* * *

**Twist**

The shriek lifted both Owen and Beru from their bed. Frightened, fearful, they ran into Luke's room to find the boy fighting with his bed sheets: his body twisting among the cloth. Beru sat on the bed, placed her hand on Luke's fevered brow, stroked his hair.

"It's okay, Luke," she murmured, soothing him. "You're okay. Shush, little one..." she leaned down as his frantic movements calmed and kissed his cheek. "We're here, you're safe."

A flicker of long eye lashes and his eyes opened. "Aunt Beru."

He wrapped his arms around his aunt's waist.

"It was the Dark Man."

**Turn**

Obi-wan had been expecting this visit for some time, knew that the boy had inherited his father's ability for precognition, had felt young Luke's coiling night terrors, had seen fragments of the visions himself – so strongly did the child project them.

"The Dark Man," he hesitated, cleared his throat, and looked into Owen's eyes. "It's his father."

The silence dragged.

"But," Beru spoke first. "You said Anakin had died."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I thought he had, I... I hoped he had."

"Anakin's alive?" Owen was both staggered and dismayed by the news.

And this was the turn, the twist.

"He's Vader."

**Tilt**

Beru's world tilted, shifted, altered.

She thought her heart had stopped; thought that the stillness she felt could be nothing else, that the moment of silence in the room was a lifetime.

Anakin, the handsome Jedi who had rushed away to save Shmi, who had knelt, grief stricken, on her grave, was the Lord Vader.

Luke's _father!_

Sound washed in: Owen's rage erupting into a storm of accusations.

She felt her body rise, felt it walk to the open door and she clutched at the wall as terror griped her.

"Beru?"

Her voice was a whisper. "This changes nothing... Nothing..."


	44. Cruel, Crowd, Crust

**AN:** I am a little late with these drabbles... I'm afraid that my muse has been very quiet lately and real life very busy. I am still here and still writing sporadically. So I have not forgotten about any of my stories...

All previous disclaimers still apply

* * *

**Cruel**

Owen didn't understand. How could Beru say that this news didn't change anything?

Anakin was alive!

That changed everything.

Luke's father was alive!

That cruel information alone sent him crashing down to sit. Defeated, lost, his anger fading and dying as a pool of fear gathered in the pit of his belly.

He dropped his head into his hands.

"What if he comes for him?" he heard himself whisper, "What if Anakin comes looking for Luke?"

"He won't," Obi-Wan assured him, sound strong and sure. "He thinks the child died with his mother – unborn."

_Unborn..._

"You should have told us."

ooOOoo

**Crowd**

Obi-Wan drew in a breath, using the moment to choose his words carefully. His relationship with Owen had always been tenuous and he suspected the farmer knew that the day would soon come when Luke's destiny would snatch him from his guardian's protection.

"We thought it best not to say..."

"We?" The farmer jumped on the word. "There are more of you?"

Obi-Wan nodded mutely.

If anything that silent gesture had a greater affect on Owen than spoken words. He seemed to retreat, seemed to wilt as his greatest fear crowded him.

"So his father is not our only concern?"

ooOOoo

**Crust**

Owen's words caused a ripple of apprehension in Beru, she turned to look at the older man, at the Jedi. The blue of his eyes seemed heavy with knowledge and determination.

"The boy needed protection, he needed hidden. We thought this was the best place."

"Anakin knows we're here," Beru told him.

Again the Jedi nodded. "But he doesn't know about Luke."

"But he'll find out." It wasn't a question.

"Luke has a power within him that cannot be subdued or hidden for long."

"No!" Owen's denial was broken, crusted with the fear of loss. "The boy stays with us."


	45. Grief, Change, Loss

**AN:** My apologies for falling off the face of the planet. I am still around, I am still writing (albeit slowly) and I am still intending up up dating all my WIP eventually. Life has just been tough lately... sorry.

All Previous Disclaimers apply.

* * *

**Grief**

Obi-Wan's shoulder's dropped under the farmer's anger and he closed his eyes. To anyone else he would seem to be wilting, retreating, but Beru thought she could see something else in the Jedi. She had seen it before.

A yawning sadness, a profound grief that knocked the breath from him, that only seemed to abate when he looked at Luke.

Luke was Obi-Wan's hope.

His salvation.

And Owen was denying him.

Owen was keeping Luke away from him.

She placed a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Obi-Wan... please... how do we protect Luke? These dreams he's having, are they dangerous?"

**Change**

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, his shoulders straightened as he considered Beru's question, all the while aware of the apprehension that the couple felt now they knew the truth about Luke's father.

The boy's dreams had started with his tenth birthday, at about the same age that Qui-Gon had found his father. It seemed that Luke had inherited Anakin's gift - or curse - of precognition.

Despite his previous assertions, Obi-Wan knew that if he did not help, if he did not intervene these ripples through the Force may just lead a curious Vader right to them.

And everything would change.

**Loss**

He knew they were at a crossroads; a point in time when a destiny's path was chosen.

He could simply take Luke, remove him from his guardians – for how could they stop him? - take him to Yoda so that he could be trained, prepared to face his father.

Or, he could remain here.

Shield the boy, mute his connection to the Force, and dull his senses so that his powers remained quiet and hidden.

He looked to the watching couple and in their eyes he saw his decision.

He only hoped they were prepared for the losses to come.


	46. Horror, Terror, Anguish

**AN: **Amazingly I am posting these in the correct month! Now to turn my attention to my other stories for a wee while and see if I can get some time to do some proper writing.

Warning - Depending on your POV "Anguish" may contain triggers for child abuse. Although, I don't see it that way, others more sensitive might.

As always - All previous disclaimers still apply.

* * *

**Horror**

It was deep in the night when Obi-Wan arrived at the farmstead and Beru had to wonder what kind of man had the confidence and courage to travel the sands of Tatooine when the moons were at their lowest and the night at its darkest and coldest; when all the horrors of the planet crept or crawled from their holes and burrows to skitter across the sand in search of prey.

She took him down into the courtyard as Owen reset the perimeter sensors and defences. The sombre Jedi silently followed her to Luke's room where the boy innocently slept.

**Terror**

Owen met them at the bedroom door, silently nodding his acknowledgement, his permission for the Jedi to continue and palmed open the door before turning away, not wanting to watch, not wanting to see.

Obi-Wan stepped into the room. It was dimly lit by a nightlight; a childish attempt to banish night terrors with a light. He looked at the sleeping boy, his heart lurching with grief and love. Luke was Anakin's double, a painful reminder of the child who had fallen asleep beside him on the journey home from Naboo.

A child destined to destroy and burn a galaxy.

**Anguish**

"Will it hurt?"

Obi-Wan turned to Beru, tried to smile to allay her fears.

"Not... physically..." he told her, hating himself, but the boy needed protected, needed a deeper hiding place than just Tatooine.

He closed his eyes, drew the Force to him, felt the shadows deepen as he placed his hands at either side of the Luke's head and violently shoved into his mind.

The boy's eyes snapped wide, he fought, kicking and howling in anguish at the intrusion, as Obi-Wan constructed the shield that would hide his presence from his father, from Palpatine, from Obi-Wan and from himself.


	47. Quiet, Calm, Storm

**AN:** I'm late with the drabbles... these should have been written last month!

My apologies to those waiting for replies for comments and reviews. It's been a difficult few weeks and I'm very behind in everything! I just want people to know that I appreciate all feedback and comments made.

As before - **all previous disclaimers still apply**.

* * *

**Quiet**

Beru bent down and picked up a single discarded sock that had been peeking out from under Luke's bed. She looked around the boy's room.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

And a quiet Luke indicated trouble.

She threw the sock into the laundry basket and went looking for her nephew.

She found him by the dome, staring at the empty stretches of desert. He was standing so still, so silent.

"Luke?"

He jerked in surprise and turned around.

"Aunt Beru," he laughed. "You gave me a fright!"

She could not fight the bite of guilt; Luke was never caught unaware.

**Calm**

Beru fought to keep her tones calm and level. She couldn't regret what they had Obi-Wan do. They'd had to protect Luke and severing his connection with the Force seemed the only way.

"You're supposed to be tidying your room?"

"I am," he told her, turning back to stare at the horizon.

She suppressed a smile. "This isn't your room, young man."

He turned, grinned and she struggled not to smile back and let him know he had her.

Then he frowned, glanced at the horizon. His next words broke her heart.

"I've lost something, but I don't know what."

**Storm**

He sounded bewildered, lost.

Beru yearned to gather him in her arms, to hold him tight, but she couldn't do that, couldn't act any different toward him.

"Perhaps you'll remember if you go back and finish tidying up?"

"No, it's out here... somewhere..." He kicked at the ground in frustration, sending up tiny storms of sand.

Beru placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling him slump in defeat at her touch. "Come on," she pressed, gently. "I'll get you some milk and berry cookies, then I'll help you find it."

It was the first lie she had ever told him.


	48. Bake, Burn, Blaze

**AN:** I never expected to post any drabbles so soon. But these flew off my finger tips onto the keyboard. I just hope the last drabble makes sense... :)

Thanks to those who have commented so kindly on the previous set.

**All previous disclaimers apply.**

* * *

**Bake**

Wind whipped his hair as the golden droid piloted the landspeeder. Luke had thought that, with an early start, he would have no trouble finding the Artoo unit, but the little machine seemed to have covered a lot of ground during the night.

Or perhaps they had passed him and would need to turn around.

He glanced at the rising suns and groaned. Uncle Owen would be apoplectic; he was never going to get to the south ridge vaporators in time and would need to work through the baking afternoon to finish his chores.

That's _if_ he found the droid.

**Burn**

He lay flat on his belly and wriggled to the edge of the cliff and stared through the macrobinoculars. The hot rocks he lay on burned through his clothing as he focused the lenses on movement below.

"...It's Sandpeople all right..." he whispered to Threepio behind him. "I can see one of them now..."

A shadow, a shriek, his gun smashed by the swing of a gaderffii and Luke found himself helplessly sprawled on his back at the edge of a cliff as the Tuskan above him cried in triumph and brought his weapon down.

Then blackness and still silence.

**Blaze**

It was dark, absolute blackness. The vastness of it frightened him. He turned in panic and twisted and plunged...

...tumbling endlessly...

...limbs flailing as he desperately sought purchase to stop his fall.

There... a pinpoint... light...

_A warmth of his temples... fingers lightly touching his head..._

... the light grew, racing toward him, rushing for him.

It blazed as it caught him, engulfed him, he cried out...

His eyelashes fluttered, flashes of light and dark... and he looked up at the shadow leaning over him.

"Ben? Ben Kenobi?"

Smiling Obi-Wan helped Luke stand; the boy's presence within the Force restored.


	49. Dream, Nightmare, Vision

AN: A new year and 12 more sets of drabbles to come. I have a favour to ask... despite the vast amount of words in the English language I am struggling to get some challenging words, so if anyone wants to send suggestions please PM me. Thanks.

**The previous disclaimers still apply...**

I'm afraid for these words I went with the obvious...

* * *

**Dream**

The dreams began as snippets. Little snap shot flashbacks to a life lost and left behind.

_A sunset, binary stars sinking behind dunes, turning the blue of the sky into a medley of colours; deep oranges, reds and gold._

_A vaporator standing silhouetted against a clear sky._

_Sand. Dry, irritating sand that stretched toward all horizons._

_Tanned hands picking mushrooms from the base of a vaporator._

He ignored these pictures, pushed them away and dismissed them as errant memories, as fragments from his childhood even as he recognised them as something more, as something else.

In time they would pass.

**Nightmare**

They didn't.

They lingered, teasing him, and then they became more, coalesced into scenes, into familiar events long since passed.

_Those same tanned hands picking mushrooms._

_Guttural grunting and shouting._

_A thick, cloth encased, hand closing around his mouth. The stench of the filthy fabric making him gag and choke._

_Pain. A never ending punishment as screams were wrenched from his parched throat._

_A torn and ripped back, broken fingers. _

_An agonising thirst…_

He would burst from the nightmare, eyes wide, heart hammering and in the sanctuary of his hyperbaric chamber he would call out like a child lost.

"Mom!"

**Vision**

Tatooine.

He stood alone and still among the rebel dead, staring at the planet beyond the viewing port as his troopers cleared the rest of the ship.

So this was why the visions had returned. The pursuit of the Princess's ship had brought him home, had brought him to a place that he abhorred and hated, a place that meant nothing but sorrow and regret.

What had she hoped to find among the rocks and sand?

There was nothing here but death and decay.

He turned away, sure that once out of the system his dreams would wane and die.


	50. Curse, Sour, Breathe

**AN:** Again these drabbles follow on from the previous set. I hope that you can follow what has happened as I have taken a bit of a leap that folks will understand the search for the droids. My thanks to Kazlynh for suggesting the words, they turned out to be quite challenging. If time allows in future I might write this story thread as a full tale... but I have a lot on my plate just now.

All Previous Disclaimers Apply...

* * *

**Curse**

He was wrong.

The dreams remained; their images and sounds becoming stronger, sharper in detail as the pictures became defined. Colours and hues blended, fused to create a terrible tableau that had him moaning and mumbling in his sleep, protesting against the visions that his mind fashioned into torture.

…_rough hands clutched at the thick wooden bar, wrists bloodied by the tight leather straps that tied them to the frame._

…_the heat of the twin suns at noon beating down upon a naked back. Burning…_

…_.a voice, cursing, pleading, mumbling incoherently._

A young voice. A male voice.

Not his mother.

ooOOoo

**Sour**

Opening his eyes Vader stared into the darkness of his chamber.

Something felt wrong, something felt displaced and shifted. Something wasn't as it was supposed to be. He drew the Force to him, seeking solace within its darkened folds, seeking answers to his haunting dreams.

_...Tatooine…_

… _A shadow moving, a cry of surprise, a rifle shattered, a blow to the chest, a frantic scrabble to avoid a swinging gaffi... darkness…_

… _a sour smell chasing the shadows. Hands and feet tied tight, body lashed to a lumbering bantha…_

… _a fleeting, panicked thought. "Aunt Beru… Uncle Owen… Help me!"_

ooOOoo

**Breathe**

Vader pulled back, drawing away from the frightened youth, pushing away the horror and anguish, allowing his life support to breathe for him, the cooling air calming him.

"_Aunt Beru… Uncle Owen…"_

There would be no help from the Lars. He'd had them executed, the farm burned, finally erasing his past, putting to rest any remnant of Anakin Skywalker.

Who was this boy who called for them, who was this youth whose terror tore through the Force?

"_Aunt Beru… Uncle Owen…"_

The nameless nephew, the boy the troopers had failed to find.

The boy who had the droids.

"_Help me!"_


	51. Whisper, Scent, Sigh

**AN:** The good thing about recovering from surgery is the time I have on my hands as I am currently signed off work by my Doctor. :) I am trying to put the time to good use.

These drabbles follow on from the previous two sets and continue the story line of "Luke gets taken by Tuskens when he goes after the droids."

Many thanks to every one who is reading these "Moments," but a special thanks to those who have been kind enough to say a few words. :)

**All Previous disclaimers still apply...**

* * *

**Whisper**

The sudden warning sliced through the Force tearing Obi-Wan from his meditation. He drew himself to his feet, staring out across the desert vista, searching across the suns-scorched wilderness.

_Luke…_

The whisper was desperate, the Force thrilling with danger, with threat and he knew that Luke Skywalker was the centre of it, the cause of it.

Hurrying into his dwelling he retrieved his lightsaber, hooked it to his belt and donned his cloak. He paused at the doorway, eyes searching the sands, opening himself to the Force searching for the boy he had vowed to watch over, to protect.

There…

**Scent**

He trudged through the sand, pulling his cowl up over his head as the suns rose. The heat was building, the dry air stealing his breath, searing his lungs with every hurried intake of breath.

The Force was bearing down on him, calling on him to quicken his pace. It was deep, darkening with every second. It had been a long time since the Force had keened so loudly. Not since…

He stumbled, foot catching on a rock. He glanced up, trying to see beyond the blue of the sky, suddenly catching the presence, the lingering scent of evil.

_Vader!_

**Sigh**

There was more happening here than Obi-Wan understood. The sense of terror from the boy was raw, visceral, but Vader's presence was merely shadow, a subfusc shading. It appeared to have little bearing on Luke's immediate fate.

He rounded the canyon wall, climbed up over an incline, hurried down to the floor of the valley.

All was quiet.

Still.

Luke's landspeeder sat among a scattering of debris. There was no sign of the boy but the marks in the sand were chillingly familiar.

Tuskens.

A soft electronic sigh, a quiet moan of loss drew him.

He turned, spotted movement. "Artoo?"


	52. Run, Reason, Rush

**AN:** Many thanks to Shieldmaiden19 for suggesting some words. I have used "Reason" in this batch off drabbles. These are a continuation of the previous three sets.

**All previous disclaimers apply...**

* * *

**Run**

Luke was running. He didn't know how he had managed to break away. He just remembered struggling, fighting, wrenching his body free from grabbing hands as he'd been dragged from the bantha's back.

Now he ran. He darted between huts, sprinted while desperately trying to loosen the leather straps that tied his wrists.

He could hear startled and angry shouts from across the Tusken encampment, could hear the dull thuds of footsteps as he was chased through the sand.

Seeing the outskirts of the camp and the desert expanse beyond, he lowered his head and powered his legs.

Hope flaring.

**Reason**

A flash of movement at his side, an explosion of pain across his face as the staff of the swinging gaffi stick made contact.

All reason was driven from him.

Then he was on his back, coughing, choking on the thick blood that flowed to the back of his throat, a tide of agony pulsed across his face, rolling nauseatingly through his skull. He could feel warm liquid slide down swelling skin.

Shadows fell across him, enraged voices shouted strange sounds over him and he was grabbed and dragged backward, manhandled crying and bleeding back through the maze of huts.

**Rush**

The rush of panic on seeing where they were taking him, what they were going to do to him, did him no good.

Despite fighting, despite struggling and kicking, he was dumped on the ground. They turned him onto his belly and stripped the tunic from him. His hands were untied and forcefully rebound to wooden stakes driven into the sand. His boots were removed and ankles likewise secured.

Spread eagled, with blood and sand encrusted on his bruised face, the Raiders left him exposed to the Tatooine suns as they rose toward noon.

"Uncle Owen… Aunt Beru… Help me…"


	53. Vow, Ring, Kiss

**AN: **The words this month are dedicated to a friend who is getting married this week. I really struggled with the last one!

We are still with the "Luke gets caught by Tusken's story..."

All previous disclaimers still apply...

* * *

**Vow**

The dream propelled him from sleep, the strangled cry of denial only just silenced. The visions were getting worse, the taunting sense that he had left something behind growing stronger the nearer he got to the Death Star.

… _the boy…_

Swallowing, he called for his helmet to be lowered. His chair swivelled around, the jaws of his chamber opening as the viewing screen activated and the comm opened.

He had vowed he would never return to that dry, hateful, planet but its desperate call was too fierce to ignore.

His captain stepped into view.

"Take us back to Tatooine."

**Ring**

The ring of light from the Astro droid's projector died away as the recording ended and Obi-Wan sat back on the rock contemplating what he had just seen and heard and what he had learned from the droids.

Padme's daughter was in her father's hands. Padme's son had been taken by Tuskan Raiders and both their futures seemed equally as bleak, equally as terrifying.

And then there were these painfully familiar droids. Anakin's astro droid, Padme's golden protocol together again and carrying vital information for the growing Rebellion.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes in despair… never had he felt so torn.

**Kiss**

Something was wrong.

Leia Organa sat on the edge of the platform staring at the reddish glow that bled up through the floor of the cell.

It was all wrong, this whole sorry situation was wrong; she was a captive of the Empire she once served, a prisoner of Darth Vader and she knew that, as soon as they reached the Death Star, her situation would deteriorate.

She rose, walked to the door, fingertips absently kissing against the cool durasteel.

So why did she feel something else was amiss? Why did she feel it eclipsed even her own dire predicament?


	54. Fire, Ash, Night

**AN:** Set 6 (June) of the drabbles for this year and Luke is still in the hands of the Tuskens. Many thanks to everyone who is reading these drabbles and more thanks to those who have taken the time to comment.

All previous disclaimers still apply...

* * *

**Fire**

Kindling snapped and crackled in the cooking fire as the Tuskens dragged Luke into the hut and dumped him on the floor beside a crudely fashioned frame. Barely conscious, severely sunburned and dehydrated, he was hauled to his knees and his wrists tied to the wood by leather straps.

He tried to open his eyes, but they were glued shut by blood, encrusted with sand. His hair was grabbed, his head drawn up and cool liquid hit his lips. He opened them, drank thirstily before realising it wasn't water. It was viscous and it burned his cracked and bleeding lips.

**Ash**

It tasted of ash, seared his throat as it slid down.

He choked, struggled, but he was firmly held, liquid pouring thickly into his mouth. He coughed, spraying it out, received a blow to his face and again it flowed down his throat.

He gasped when it stopped; heaved as his stomach rebelled against it, racking his body. Then there was silence apart from his moans of agony, and the popping of burning wood.

Nearby, the Tusken adolescent sat by the fire, heating his knife in the flames as he waited for the natural stimulant to fully wake the human.

**Night**

Wincing as his knees cracked, Obi-Wan crouched down on the bluff overlooking the vast Tusken encampment.

He had argued and meditated over what to do. There was little that could be done about the girl, Leia was not here. The choice was between the fate of Anakin's son and the fate of the Galaxy.

He had chosen Luke.

But now, looking down on the field of huts and fires, Obi-Wan knew that he no longer had the strength to rescue Luke alone.

"Where are you, Anakin," he whispered as something shrieked into the night from below. "Your son needs you."


	55. Buff, Rippling, Muscles

**AN:** This is not July's words, this is an extra set of words from June that came from a joke among friends after seeing a photo that I found on the internet of a young Mark Hamill rehearsing for Luke's duel with Vader during the making of The Empire Strikes Back. It's a rather nice picture... :P

I was going to write something a little different, using the words in the context of the joke (a female seeing Luke practice with his lightsaber) but when I sat down to write I found that Luke's plight with the Tusken's was still very much on my mind.

**All Previous Disclaimers Apply...**

* * *

**Buff**

With a hot wind fanning his cape Darth Vader stood surveying the farmstead he had visited only once before. The once buff sand stone dome was now blackened and smoke damaged and, through his mask's filters, he could smell the stench of melted plastics, burned fuel and scorched flesh.

Or at least, he imagined he could.

He drew his eyes from the two corpses and reluctantly looked toward the Lars family cemetery, set a little away from the dwelling. It remained tended, well kept, but the grave markers were gone.

It didn't matter; he still knew where his mother lay.

**Rippling**

Rippling heat waves distorted the horizon as the Dark Lord moved to stand by his mother's grave. He knew the troops waiting by the shuttle would be perplexed by his behaviour, he knew they would be wondering why Darth Vader stood by a lonely patch of sand.

He also knew that, if they valued their lives, they would remain silent and unquestioning.

"_My son… My grown up son."_

He closed his eyes with an old pain reborn and allowed his respirator to cycle a breath in and a breath out.

There was another from this farm suffering his mother's fate.

**Muscles**

He turned, barking. "Commander!"

The officer scuttled over to him, perspiration trailing down his face, muscles twitching in fear and agitation as he approached his master.

"What do we know about the missing boy? Does he have the droids?"

"That… is the assumption, My Lord." The officer's head dipped as he read a description of the suspect. "He is named as Luke Skywalker, nineteen years old, blond, average height…"

The man's voice droned out and one word remained to repeat within.

…_Skywalker… Skywalker… Skywalker…_

And then he heard it through the Force.

"_Where are you, Anakin? Your son needs you."_


	56. Mark, Match, March

**AN:** I really struggled with these words. I thought initially that I would have to do a stand alone set, but when I sat down to write the words just clicked into place.

All previous disclaimers still apply.

* * *

**Mark**

Cloaked by the Force and from his vantage point on the bluff above the Tusken encampment Obi-Wan watched desperately for any sign of Luke, any movement that would mark the hut in which the boy was being kept.

Luke was alive, there was no doubt of that, his signature in the Force was unmistakable but it was weak… so terribly weak.

He believed he was too old, he believed that his days of jumping rashly into a fight were firmly in the past, left behind on the fiery banks of Mustafar with his friend.

But he was all Luke had.

**Match**

He would wait for nightfall before slipping past the Tusken sentries, he would pray Luke would last that long, pray that he was a match for these creatures…

…there!

Obi-Wan focused the macrobinoculars he had taken from Luke's discarded landspeeder on the Tuskan that emerged from a hut near the edge of the camp. Its robes were bloodied, streaked with drying, blackening gore and Obi-Wan struggled to push away the rise of anger, the cloud of darkness that threatened and…

It wasn't him. It wasn't his blackness, it was…

He turned, watched the Imperial shuttle cut across the sky.

Anakin.

**March**

The shuttle was followed by a transport, both sinking to the ground a few metres beyond the encampment. Grunts, barks and shouts rose through the air. Tusken warriors rushed to meet the stormtroopers now spilling from open hatches, a hail of blaster fire strafing across the sands.

The creatures were pushed back, their gaderffi sticks and projectile weapons no match for Imperial fire power; they fell by the dozen. Men, women, children…

Obi-Wan stood, pulled to his feet by the call of Force, as a dark figure marched down the shuttle's ramp, red lightsaber snapping on, to join the fray.


End file.
